Seasonal Winds
by SailorElfGirl
Summary: Freedom, it whispered seductively, and for so many it had ensnared. So dangerous but so beautiful, just like the desert. NejixOC


**Hey, Sailor Elf here! I finally got off my lazy butt and decided to post this new story that I've been working on. I'm sorry to say that my previous story _Lost in a Silver Storm_ will not be updated any longer. Sorry, but I ran out of ideas and continued to work on other things. I've got many, many stories that I'm working on at one time but I'm still a little nervous about posting them. **

**So here's my latest story, and if I get enough support on this one, I might post my other Naruto story. If you want to find out what it is or have any questions, please feel free to e-mail me and I'll answer them the best I can.**

**So, thank-you for your support and I hope you enjoy Seasonal Winds.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto and only write for my own enjoyment.**

Strands of silver intermingled with the hues of the rising sun, tinting the metal shade a deep purple and the orange radiance of dawn. The shadows of the night were banished as the purifying rays cast their illumination among the desert. The gentle wind molded the sand dunes to its own creation, caressing Sunagakure within its embrace. The village hidden in the Sand, a fitting name for a town buried in a wasteland, but as the young woman gazed upon her entire world with the setting sky inherent in her eyes she recognized the ethereal beauty of the wilderness that she had been born into.

There wasn't a single tree to be seen for miles. The desert claimed the weak and the unworthy and crushed them beneath fate's heel as the wind blew over the sandbanks to erase her judgment. There weren't many things to see in the heart of her homeland, but there were many things to know if one was to ensure their survival. Black and white, the shades of reality blurred together in a hazy gray that only promised the strong to live past the remnants of the winking moon.

The light of the sun glinted off the scuffed metal of a proudly worn hitai-ate with an hourglass engraved into its surface. A shinobi of the Land of the Wind, the woman of twenty and four summers was considered one of the elite if that was what her uniform spoke about her. The camouflage green of her hard won flak jacket hung lazily off one shoulder, unzipped to allow the breeze to soak into her skin.

A strong gust of wind flew past her prone body to entwine in her silver tresses that were only tamed by the style she wore her headband so that it covered the top of her head with dark blue material that resembled a kerchief. Tentative corners of her lips twitched as she let her namesake twirl joyfully around her body.

If it was one thing that gave the desert its beauty, it was its forever shifting currents that caught underneath a fledgling's wings and carried it into the endless blue sky. Freedom it whispered seductively, and for so many it had ensnared. So dangerous but so beautiful, just like the desert. A double-edged sword that she had honed into a deadly weapon if she so chose; her body and her katana.

Her fingers lovingly traced the engravings of the midnight sheath that hung at her side. For so many years, this sword had saved her life countless times and had made a name for itself that was to be feared among the other shinobi. The Siren's Wail, it was called by others, and herself she named it lovingly Uchigatana Gin Tsubasa. She also had a name that was in the Bingo Book of the rouge ninja, an S-Class that only the strongest or most foolish dared to pursue. There had been many 

of both along the path of her latest mission that had carried well past the boundaries of her country into enemy territory.

But she had returned and carried the spoils of her find in a pouch that hung firmly from one of the belts that hung loosely around her slim waist. The young woman slid her armor guarded leg to her chest, leaving behind a trail of sand, and leaned her head against her knee. A glove covered hand drew up and hooked two fingers behind the confining mask that hid her face from the world.

She let out a contented sigh as she pulled it away from her face and let the silken material hang from her neck. The wind greeted her enthusiastically, gently running its fingers through platinum strands and flaking off the blood from a cut that formed a half crescent beneath her eye stretching to her cheek. He had been a strong opponent, but had soon fallen behind in her skills and suffered a mortal blow.

_Foolish idiots_, she whispered in her mind. There was no substitution for combat experience. She had been training since she was a small child. Her father never accepted anything less than perfect. It was expected from her to be the best.

No excuses.

Born a girl, her father had despaired that their line would cease because his wife had not given him a son. The Kisetsufuu bloodline was a noble and ancient one that allowed no weaknesses. Being the child of the Mukaikaze, Aori was heir to the entire clan. She would someday take her father's position in a clash of strength and whoever won would claim the title and become a step below Kazekage.

For, indeed, centuries their clan was the council of their village leader, wise, powerful, the Kisetsufuu were known in every village in the land as being fierce and unforgiving as the wind that they held mastery over.

But they were wrong. The wind was loving and kind and it had a temper to balance it out. It whispered its secrets into her ear, became a friend on lonely journeys, a weapon on the battlefield, a gentle caress on an open wound, and foretold the approaching of an enemy.

Aori watched the sun peak over the orange horizon and ignored the presence to her left. She barely heard the footsteps coming up from behind her, and noticed that 

they stopped directly to her side. The wind greeted the newcomer and administered its affections to the silent figure; for he too was from her clan, but of a different branch. Limited by birth to where he belonged, the place he was born into became his place for his entire life. That was what the first Mukaikaze ordered, and his ruling had lasted for numerous generations and had gone by unquestioned.

Neither spoke and Aori was content in the silence. It was not often that she was granted a moment to herself and she planned to make the most of this one. No matter how many times she watched the rising and setting of the sun, it never failed to take her breath away. Her magical moment was ruined however when the man beside her knocked her upside the head.

"What the hell was that for, Tsukai?!" She exclaimed and protected her skull with her hands just in case he was provoked and decided to add another bump.

He didn't give an explanation and ignored her death glare that bored holes into his skin and set him ablaze with the fires of hell. However, her fierce glower didn't protect her side. Tsukai applied pressure to her shoulder which sent her toppling over. Aori sprang up, ignoring the blood ribboning down her arm from the wound he had unintentionally opened and gathered the collar of his flak jacket and brought the well over six foot man down to her height.

"What crawled up your ass and died, bastard!"

His emerald eyes narrowed at her name for him. His gaze drifted from her amethyst orbs to the cut on her cheek and frowned. Was she wounded; he thought and mentally scanned her to make sure that she was in good health. Besides, like she would tell him if he asked. The stubborn banshee would rather carry unnecessary pain to help shelter the suffering of others. An admirable quality in any person, but with Aori, it was just damn annoying. However, he couldn't help but admire her. He always had ever since they were children.

"How long were you planning to prolong the inevitable?"

Tsukai's question startled her out of her reverie. Aori, snorted air through her nose and unclenched her fingers to release her life-long friend to cross her arms over her chest.

"I don't know what you're talking about. I just got here," she defended and tied her katana back around her waist from where she had taken it off earlier.

The medic-nin raised an eyebrow, "I highly doubt that Mukaikaze-sama."

The corner of Tsukai's lips lifted up at her groan of disgust.

"You know how I _hate_ that title, Kai!"

He smirked at his childhood nickname coming from her lips and knew exactly how much she detested that honorific for the "Head Wind" of their clan. She had worn the title for a little over a year now and still she threatened to order people to cease to call her by her proper title. Now everyone just did it to see the dejected expression on the Mukaikaze's face. Aori Kitakaze was the youngest to ever rule the Kisetsufuu, but their clan had prospered under her ruling even if not everyone agreed with her decisions.

"I do not have any idea what you are babbling about, Kitakaze-dono."

Aori stood to her full height of five foot seven inches and pointed her finger at his smirking face in a menacing gesture. "That's it! I'm kicking your ass out of principle now, snot-head!"

Tsukai frowned at her childish reference to his green hair that she taunted looked like a giant booger. Hell, hers was silver, why was she giving him such grief when her waist length hair made her seem like an old lady? However, the man wasn't stupid enough to get her even more pissed off then she was now. He may be hesitant enough to admit it, but Aori could indeed kick his ass, easily.

"Now, Kisetsufuu-sama you wouldn't kill the messenger, would you?" He teased and blocked the fist that was aimed towards his jaw in a padded hand. There wasn't much force behind it, but it was enough to send him back an inch from his previous position. Indeed, the North Wind Branch was known for its power.

"Message," she blinked and drew her fist back to plant it on her hip. "What message?"

"Kazekage-sama has ordered a council meeting," he said flippantly and watched with amusement as the significance of his news processed through her mind.

"WHAT?! All of a sudden?!"

He shook his head, "Kazekage-sama told you before you left on your mission and that he expected you back yesterday to report to him before he called the meeting the next morning. That's today."

Aori smacked a hand to her forehead and drew it down slowly in frustration. She had completely forgotten which was unusual in itself. She may not act like it, but she was raised from birth to become a leader. At age three, the daughter of the Mukaikaze was pronounced his heir, and from there she was trained to fill her father's shoes. There was no one else to blame but herself for this mistake. However, there had been many things on her mind lately. The feelings of restlessness had not been sated from her latest increase in missions that she requested from the Kazekage.

She sighed tiredly from the past few days with no rest, "When does it start?"

"Six minutes ago, might I suggest that you hur-."

A scream of frustration interrupted him and with a strong gust and a cloud of smoke, Tsukai was alone on the sand dune.

"-ry," he finished. The medic ninja smirked at his friend's actions and shook his head. "Welcome home, Aori."

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ

"Mukaikaze-sama, I must disagree! Your judgment was too harsh and the decision was not discussed with the council! I insist that you withdraw verdict on one of our own shinobi who had the potential to become the greatest if given the chance!"

The representative of the Northern Branch breathed heavily after his tirade against his leader. His heart pounded with the adrenaline of his provoked speech. Smooth hands that have never held death in his hands, curled on the mahogany table. The chair behind him had fallen to the floor when he had jumped to defend the honor of their most promising shinobi of the Kisetsufuu clan.

Sweat began to dampen the folds of his formal kimono that portrayed the North Wind with the summoning of their branch spreading its wings across the back. The ceremonial feathers braided into his graying chest length brown hair swayed in the uprising wind that he had unintentionally created. He forced 

meditated breaths that calmed the breeze. His fierce eyes never left the violet orbs of his leader. Behind their jewel depths he could see nothing; a blank mask swirling in an amethyst void.

She looked at him like he was beneath her notice; ice piercing him in his blackened heart. He hated that look. He wished for nothing more than to permanently wipe it from existence, wipe her from this world. Why their previous Mukaikaze decided to hand the title of heir over to his miscreant daughter, he would never conceive an answer. A woman…the "Head Wind" of their clan was an emotional female who did not deserve the honor to become the Kisetsufuu leader. It should have been his son! Not…not this…girl!!

"Sit," ordered the Mukaikaze. Her voice echoed in the silent room, her tone was one that demanded total respect and left no room for childish outbursts such as that from her own council members.

"But Mukai-!"

She cut him off with a sharp gesture from her hand. "You shame the Kisetsufuu clan and you also disrespect your Kazekage. Sit, Makaze."

He desperately looked to the leader of Sunagakure, but he received nothing but an uninterested glance of sea foam eyes surrounded by an onyx border that sent chills racing up his spine. For ten years, Sabaku no Gaara had held the title of Kazekage and never before had the Village Hidden in the Sand prospered so much in this time of peace. The war of the Sound with the leaf village crippled their forces, but his leadership had brought them tranquility. From a monster to a savior, Gaara had won the respect of Suna not out of fear, but with the love tattooed into his forehead that he claimed would never enter his life.

Makaze slowly picked up the fallen chair and eased his aged body into it before setting his chin upon his folded hands, glaring silently at the girl who shared his branch's name.

"My decision is final, Uncle," she said in a softened voice that did nothing to cool the raging fires dwelling within him.

The North Wind representative deplored his hands in objection. "If I were Mukaikaze I would be wiser before I would-!"

"But you are not," interrupted the Kazekage with his monotonous voice that shocked everyone attending. He rarely spoke and would rather listen, even more so to support someone else. "She is."

Aori nodded her appreciation towards her long time friend and settled into her contemplative position with her two forefingers tapping softly on her rosebud lips and eyes shielded from the world.

"She may be Mukaikaze in name, but she does not hold true to the traditions of our clan," Soyokaze whispered softly.

"I am in agreement with the West Branch," slithered Yokaze with his forked tongue held behind his sinful teeth. Aori never knew why her father appointed this dangerous man to the council, but she had not found anyone to replace him for his advice was valued. "Mukaikaze-sama, you sit there without the robes of your station and the mask worn by your ancestors does not shroud your features. Your Jounin vest has blood staining its material and you appear to have just emerged from a mission which, in your case, is too numerous for a leader let alone a kunoichi of the Sand."

For a few moments, no one dared to breathe too loudly in case that it would draw too much attention to them. Everyone had noticed their leader's lack of traditional garbs, but to accuse her of being blind to the traditions she had practiced since she was a child, was a deadly insult. Treason, they whispered in their minds.

She opened her eyes. "I was hoping that we would soon reach the point in this discussion." Aori stared at the South Wind Branch while she spoke. "I thank you Yokaze for pointing out my state of dress and mentioning that I had just returned from a mission, for indeed I have and that would be the reason why I sit before you without my robes." She looked at the Kazekage. "I trust that the information I hold will not leave this room?"

He nodded in affirmation, looking at each branch member with his cold gaze. Aori took his signal to begin to reach into the pouch hanging from her waist. Her slim fingers, calloused and scarred by kunai, wrapped around a scroll that held information that nearly cost her, her life. She silently laid it on the table and flicked her forefinger to open the seal. The Mukaikaze hesitated for a few moments before unraveling the paper to reveal her elegant handwriting that scrawled across it.

Gaara's features remained frozen, but he was immensely curious as to what she held would make his trusted friend afraid. Nothing scared the wind shinobi easily, and whatever made her hesitate must be truly something to worry about.

"What is this," questioned the East Wind?

Aori looked up from the scroll to acknowledge Tenrai's question. He was the most honorable among the council, and also a close friend. The East Wind was known for their loyalty and courage. Time and time again they had proven themselves and were always the reliable comrades of the Mukaikaze, for if a decision between their leader and the Kazekage, the Higashikaze would protect the Kisetsufuu. Tenrai was also Tsukai's dad and was more so of a parent to Aori than her biological father. Her best friend held so much in common with his parent, they shared the same characteristics; same silvery green hair, gentle face and gentle hands, a sense of honor that was admirable, and the same penetrating emerald eyes framed by black eyelashes that seemed to peer into your very soul.

"This is the result of my mission," she answered. "I was sent on an A-class assignment to investigate the strange happenings on our borders."

Tenrai tapped his forefinger against his cheek. "Yes, I do recall hearing rumors."

Aori shook her head sadly, silver hair spilling over her left shoulder. "Only if they were indeed just stories passed along."

Soyokaze sighed sadly, "So they were true."

"And it isn't just happening in our country. In every village, I've heard accounts of children and adults alike, vanishing into thin air. No witnesses. A raven's feather is the only proof that they were taken. Whether they're alive or dead, I do not know." Aori jabbed a finger at a character on the scroll. "Sometimes they massacre an entire town with no survivors. There is no pattern." She looked at each council member one by one, violet eyes not missing a single detail. "There is no motive," she whispered as her eyes stopped on her uncle. "There is just death."

The council sighed. Tenrai held his head in his hands, his fingers brushing emerald bangs. "Kazekage-sama, has there been any reports that follow what Aori-sama has spoken of?" He spoke into the table.

Gaara shook his head slightly and crossed his arms over his chest. "Nothing. Not even rumors."

Makaze scoffed, shattering the melancholy air in the council room. "Well, I have heard accounts of a fire breathing Wyvern burning down entire acres of land, leaving them unfertile for they will grow no seed. Tell me, Mukaikaze-sama," he drawled her title mockingly, "have you an explanation for both stories?"

Aori pinned the North Wind with her violet glare, her face betraying nothing, but her eyes, her eyes burned him with their anger. A shudder crept up his spine.

"I do," she muttered simply.

Makaze swept his arm out in an extravagant gesture, determined to not meet her gaze. "Then please, dear niece, enlighten us mere mortals with your divine wisdom."

"Hold your tongue or I will not hesitate to dismiss you from this council!"

The wind whipped wildly around the young woman, its cyclone unmercifully growing in strength, responding to its lady's whim. Makaze leaned across the wooden table, sneering at the sorry excuse for their clan leader, ignoring the deafening roar.

"You have not the power or the courage to do what you have just threatened."

The years and years of hatred for this little chit of a girl exploded around him in a furious gale that blew the other members of the council from their seats. The wind flung them to the walls, their cry of pain echoed in Aori's ears as their bodies connected with the firm wood. Gaara and Aori had not inched from their position, walls of wind and sand protecting them.

"I have no such limitations."

Makaze jerked his head towards the Kazekage, his eyes widening in terror as sand began to creep up his leg. Immediately fearful for his life, the maelstrom surrounding him deadened and he dropped to the floor in a groveling bow. His heart thudded against its cage of bone as the sand still circled his body, just waiting for its chance to crush him.

"Please forgive me Kazekage-sama, I meant no disrespect," he begged. "It seems I still have to master my emotions. Please Kazekage-sama." He continued to babble incoherently as the other council members picked themselves off the floor and glared disapprovingly at the North Branch representative.

Gaara looked up from the disgraceful show of groveling to gaze questioningly at Aori whose breast heaved from the calming breaths she was forcing herself to take. Her hand pressed forcefully against the chest of the flak jacket, trying to quail the shrieking wind. _Be at peace_, she whispered to it, _this is not the time for anger_. Like a mother to a child, she stroked the wind with her mind and murmured serene words of comfort.

Its apology for disturbing its lady brushed her bloodied cheek and swept away the flaking rust from the healing cut. The wind settled serenely around her shoulders and Aori summoned her everlasting will to stare demurely at the groveling creature perched beneath the Kazekage's robes. The wind shinobi shook her head slightly and without giving any notice that he understood, Sabaku no Gaara withdrew his namesake from the North Wind's trembling body and took back his seat.

"Oh, thank-you Kazekage-sama for your forgiveness," he groveled and stood up with the venomous grace of a viper.

Gaara simply ignored him and spoke directly to Aori. "The council is dismissed from my service until further notice."

"But Kazekage-sama-!"

"Mukaikaze," Aori stood at full attention when he addressed her, "I will speak with you." She nodded and was slightly curious as to why.

"Kazekage-sama, surly you cannot mean to-"

Gaara interrupted the useless tirade of his tiring council with a single command that forced their compliancy. "Leave."

Not daring to invoke their leader's wrath, each bowed in turn and gathering what was left of their shattered pride, left with their formal robes billowing in their silent anger. Except for Aori. She crossed her arms over her chest, her position slouching against the wall now that she didn't have to hold herself up with the honor of her title. Her head was bowed as her teeth played with her bottom lip. And she began 

to think. Everything was fleeing from her fingertips. She wasn't ready for this. It was too soon for her father to announce the challenge and for her to prove her strength before the world. But he knew she was ready, even though she believed that she wasn't.

Their clan was slowly but ever so surely deteriorating into ashes burned by the fires of betrayal. Her fist clenched, the lead she sowed into the knuckles of her midnight fingerless gloves bunched together in anger.

"Haishin," she growled.

That bastard deserved death for what he had done, but the Kisetsufuu clan didn't believe in executing their prisoners and Aori had to uphold their life long traditions even though she wanted nothing more than to skewer him with Tsubasa and leave him in the hands of the tortured souls he had torn apart by his cruelty.

And now she knew where he was.

Lashing out in a red hazed fury, Aori struck her fist out and slammed it against the polished wood of the Kazekage's office. It was a compliment to the beautiful manufacturing that only cracks lined the wall where her hand lied instead of a gaping hole. The North Wind was indeed known for their power. "But I can't get to him," she muttered and withdrew her limp hand to settle on the pommel of her katana.

The Kazekage had forbidden her from leaving the village to hunt down that traitorous bastard. In blood, he may be family, but to Aori he was nothing. Nothing! Her cousin deserved death, but the laws dictated by centuries of elders had forbidden such action. She still remembered his smirk as if he knew how much she hated him. He knew that he would survive. He knew that his life would torture his dear little cousin's soul. Night after night, she dreamed of their deaths. Day after day she saw their faces smiling at her with blood leaking from their lips.

And he laughed. He wouldn't stop laughing.

Gaara meaningfully stepped over to the table and sealed her scroll with deft fingers, tying it in a firm knot. He stood in front of her, his height dwarfing her small stature in a menacing shadow. His calloused hand grasped her own. Aori absently noticed how tiny hers appeared in his giant one before he gently placed the information she had bled for in her palm. The young woman looked up into her 

Kazekage's face and was ensnared in those bottomless sea foam eyes, framed by the signs of his trials, which had been warmed by the love of his people.

For years she had served this man. Through battle, she had fought next to him. Through politics, she had supported him. Through his childhood, she had stood beside him. Now they had forged a friendship that would last through the ages and the both of them knew that the other would always be an ally.

She blinked and the spell weaved of memories was broken. Hatred would not bring her closer to him. She would wait. For now. Her fingers curled around the scroll and slipped it into one of the pouches hanging from the loose belts slung across her waist.

Aori opened her mouth to put forth her request to go after Haishin, but Gaara answered before she asked her question. He stared deep into her eyes, his own narrowing in disapproval, and spoke in a monotone voice that bore the note of repetition.

"No."

He stepped away from the young woman, folding his arms behind his back before walking towards his desk. It was clearly a sign of dismissal.


End file.
